


Be careful what you wish for

by ningloreth



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-22
Updated: 2013-11-22
Packaged: 2018-01-02 07:28:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1054102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ningloreth/pseuds/ningloreth
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p><i>I don't wanna brag, but I'll be the best you ever had...</i> Working late one night at the Ministry of Magic, Hermione sees something she shouldn’t, and becomes obsessed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Be careful what you wish for

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a pinch-hit for **peach12blossoms** at dramione_duet 2013. See the end note for the prompts.
> 
> WARNING: _Potential_ dub-con, though the protagonists don't see it as such.

Hermione slid down in her chair and, trying to hide behind the pile of scrolls on her desk, watched Draco Malfoy cross the chamber and, straightening his tie, make a beeline for Susan Bones.

 _So it's her turn now_ , she thought.

Two weeks earlier, whilst working late, as usual, Hermione had heard a strange, rhythmic sound coming from one of the meeting rooms, and had gone to investigate.

She wasn't sure why it had taken her so long to realise that what she was hearing was someone having sex, and she had no idea why, when she finally _had_ realised, she hadn't gone straight back to her desk...

 _Because Nature cursed me with curiosity, I suppose_ , she thought. _And because_ —

Under her desk, Hermione crossed her legs, and squeezed her thighs together, tight.

— _because of the noises the man was making_.

 _All those grunts and groans and guttural exclamations!_

Hermione felt a burning flush spread up from her chest to her cheeks. _Merlin_ , she thought, _it's hot in here!_ She unfastened the top buttons of her blouse, and pulled her collar open.

He'd sounded like an animal. 

_Rutting._

Yes, Hermione liked that word. It was apt.

Mentally, she rolled the 'r': _R-r-r-rutting_.

Powerless to stop herself, she'd crept up to the door, and peered inside, and there she'd seen Draco Malfoy with his trousers round his ankles, his pale, muscular buttocks working hard, as he'd fucked some woman Hermione hadn't recognised on the conference table.

Hermione slid further down in her chair. _Magnificent_ , she thought, feeling desire pool between her legs. _He was_ magnificent. _A sex god_.

Then he’d changed position and, to Hermione’s horror, as he’d pulled out of the woman and lifted her onto the table, he'd spied _her_ out of the corner of his eye, and had turned his head for a better look.

Hermione had expected him to yell at her—to call her horrible names, to tell her to fuck off and die—but, instead, he'd locked eyes with her and, with a knowing smile, he'd spread his paramour’s thighs, and slid his cock back inside her.

Then, making sure that Hermione was still watching him, he'd carried on fucking—

Hermione's nipples hardened at the memory.

—but something had changed, though the woman's cries were no less grateful... 

_He was performing for_ me, Hermione thought.

 _Teasing me_.

And oh, Merlin, had she enjoyed it!—watching him thrust, hearing him moan, seeing him shudder as he struggled to hold off his own orgasm, until, suddenly losing the battle, he'd arched his back and come, _groaning_ , and collapsed afterwards with a sob of complete disintegration.

Hermione had almost forgotten to breathe—

Then he'd pulled out of his partner and, mouth dry, Hermione had watched his erection subside, and his big cock, still swollen, sink down heavily between his thighs.

She squirmed on her office chair, guiltily aroused.

“Give me a minute,” Malfoy had breathed, bending over the woman and nuzzling her neck, but speaking as much to Hermione as to her, “and I'll be ready for round two.” Then he'd taken his cock in his hand and begun to work it back to full hardness, and Hermione had at last come to her senses, fleeing to the Ladies' loo where, lying in one of the marble baths, with her eyes closed and her mind full of Malfoy, she'd given herself the most devastating orgasm she'd ever experienced.

...

The following day, Hermione had made an unsuccessful attempt to fuck her relationship with Ron back to life.

A week after that, they'd broken up.

The decision had been mutual—it had been coming for a long time—and the break up had been totally amicable, but Hermione knew that if she hadn't seen Malfoy having sex with Ms Anonymous in the meeting room, if she hadn't so badly _wanted_ what that woman was getting, she would never have known what was missing between herself and Ron, and might never have given up on their relationship.

And now, her situation terrified her.

She _knew_ that a marriage must be based on love and respect; she _knew_ that, in the long term, mutual affection mattered more than physical desire; but she also knew that she could never settle for a man who made love with the lights out when she’d seen there were men who _rutted_ like beasts.

 _And one man_ , she thought, looking at Malfoy with Susan Bones, _in particular_...

Hermione bit her lip. Everyone knew Malfoy’s reputation for seducing anything in a skirt and, after the way he'd performed for her, she'd half expected him to proposition her. But he hadn't, and Hermione knew that _she_ could never make the first move.

Across the office, she watched him give Susan Bones a final nod, and leave the chamber with a spring in his step.

Susan looked like the cat who'd been promised a lifetime's supply of cream.

 _So now he's going to rut with_ her, Hermione thought, despondently.

...

Then Fate and Fortuna lent a hand.

Hermione didn't _deliberately_ follow Susan Bones into the Ladies' loo; it was Fate decreed that the only free washbasin should be next to Susan's, and Fortuna who ensured that, when Susan had finished combing her hair, Hermione should notice two long, red hairs lying on the porcelain...

Later, Hermione didn't _deliberately_ lurk nearby when the Head of the Being Division ordered Susan to leave immediately on a two-week inspection tour and Susan tried postpone the trip; it was Fate (again) decreed Hermione should happen to overhear the exact details of Susan's date with Malfoy, and Fortuna (again) who prompted Susan to ask Hermione if she would kindly make sure her written apology reach Malfoy as soon as possible...

On the other hand, Hermione did have to admit that it was _she_ who made up two doses of Polyjuice Potion, and who used the first to shop for a vintage Dior gown and some very, _very_ sexy underwear to fit a body that was a little smaller across the bosom, thicker at the waist, and shorter in the leg than her own.

...

At seven-thirty the following evening, having dressed carefully and drunk her second dose of Polyjuice Potion, Hermione went by Floo to Malfoy's office.

“I thought we'd arranged I'd pick you up from your flat?” he said.

“We did,” Hermione improvised, “but I had to come back to, um, check some figures that were worrying me—”

“I had no idea you were so conscientious, Susan.”

“—so I thought I’d save you the trouble.” Hermione smiled, nervously. She didn’t know Susan Bones all that well, but neither—as far as she knew—did Malfoy, _So it’s just a matter_ , she thought, _of saying whatever I say with_ confidence.

She watched Malfoy wipe his quill and set it carefully on the marble quill-rest, touch his wand to the scroll he'd been working on to seal it, and rise from his desk. “I've booked a table at _André's_ ,” he said. “I do hope you like French food?”

“I love it.”

He took his cloak from the cloak stand and draped it round his shoulders. “I must say, Susan,” he said, “you look absolutely stunning tonight.”

Hermione’s heart fluttered. “Thank you.”

“Have you done something different with your hair?” He offered her his arm.

Hermione’s free hand automatically patted her chignon. “I, um, no, not really. I just wanted to look good for you.” 

“Thank you. You look wonderful.”

...

Hermione wasn’t used to being treated like a lady, but Malfoy made it easy for her, escorting her through the Floo to _André's_ , leading her across the candle-lit restaurant to their table—the best in the house—taking the trouble to draw out her chair and seat her himself. There was a single red rose lying on her place mat; Hermione picked it up and, closing her eyes, inhaled its delicate scent...

She had never had a _real_ date before, and she was so excited—her heart pounding, her sex glowing with a delicious anticipation—she wondered if she would make it through the meal, but Malfoy proved excellent company, and soon she found herself enjoying the conversation, which ranged seamlessly from art to literature to Magic, and the exquisite food, the fine wine, and the undercurrent of mutual sexual attraction that made everything more delightful. 

She was enjoying herself so much, she completely forgot that she was supposed to be Susan Bones.

“I don't remember you being so adept at potions,” said Malfoy, when she expressed the opinion that, with the addition of fluxweed, Oculus Potion might be used to treat short-sightedness.

“Oh, I, um... Well, it's a recent interest.”

For a long moment, his huge, silver-grey eyes studied her. Then, shaking his head, he said, “It's hard to believe that some lucky wizard hasn't already snapped you up, Susan.”

“It’s hard to believe that _you_ ,” replied Hermione, recklessly, “haven’t already snapped up some lucky witch.”

“Ha!” Malfoy leaned back in his chair. “Well, as it happens, my father has snapped up a witch _for_ me—he's arranged a marriage to one of the Greengrass girls—but I'm allowed a couple of years' freedom to play the field before I settle down.”

“I see...” To Hermione, it seemed desperately sad that anyone’s future partner in life should have been chosen by his father, and she was surprised by Malfoy's good-humoured resignation, but she also realised he’d just given her the perfect opportunity to probe him on the subject of his sex life. “And how many women have you, um, _played_ with, Draco?” she asked.

Malfoy laughed again. “Why do women always ask the same question? The truth is, Susan, I lost count somewhere around fifty.”

 _Fifty!_ Hermione swallowed hard. “And, um... Have you ever played with Hermione Granger?”

“Why on earth would you ask that?”

“Well...” Hermione's mind raced and came up, she thought, with a plausible excuse: “She's so—you know—totally straight-laced. She's the biggest challenge I can think of.”

“A challenge? You'd be surprised...” Malfoy broke off, mid-sentence. “No,” he said, at last. “I haven't. Not really. A man like me—in my position—doesn't mess around with a woman like Hermione Granger. Granger's... Granger's special.”

Hermione longed to ask him what he meant by that, but she was sure the real Susan Bones would have been insulted by the implication: “What does that make _me_?” she asked.

“We both know what that makes you, Susan,” he replied, suddenly serious. “A consenting adult. You and I are going to have a good time tonight. A fantastic time, I promise. With no strings attached.”

Hermione considered his answer. “So what makes Hermione Granger different?” she asked.

“You really don't know her, do you?” he said. “If you did, you'd know she's... Well, as I said, she's _special_.” He picked up the bottle of wine and reached over to refill her glass—

“I don't want to wait,” said Hermione, suddenly.

“I'm sorry?”

“I want to do it _now_.” She glanced around the restaurant. “There must be somewhere—I mean, a private room—”

“Susan! You _are_ a dark horse!”

“You have no idea,” said Hermione.

...

Malfoy called for the Maître d' and within moments he and Hermione were alone in a _chambre séparée_. 

The room was decorated in the Second Empire style, with ornate pediments and Rococo mirrors, and carved pedestals topped by vases of expensive blooms that filled the air with a heady perfume. The table was laden with plates of tiny _canapés_ and there was a magnum of chilled champagne, but pride of place was given to a magnificent gilded _chaise longue_ , which stood upon a dais beneath a star-filled canopy, surrounded by diaphanous curtains. 

Somewhere outside, a string quartet was playing soft music. 

“Your gown is perfect,” said Malfoy, huskily. 

Hermione turned to face him. She had chosen a strapless ball gown of dark green silk chiffon, with a boned bodice, nipped-in waist, and yards and yards of skirt strewn with tiny crystals, which floated just above her ankles. 

“A reminder of more elegant times,” he said, “when men were gentlemen and women were a strange, exotic species, who wore _corsets_...” He reached out, and drew her into his arms, guiding her steps in time to the music. As they danced, his hands slid down to Hermione's hips and brought her closer, until she could feel the hard ridge of his erection, and her simmering desire boiled over. 

“I want to see you,” she said, hoarsely.

Malfoy looked down at her, his expression almost dreamy. “Sorry?”

Hermione couldn't bring herself to spoil the moment with words; very lightly, she ran her fingers up the length of his cock.

Malfoy gasped. “ _You_ ,” he said, “are a real surprise, Susan.” Then he stepped away, and drew back his arms to give her better access.

Hermione sank to her knees and unbuttoned his fly, a soft cry escaping her as she freed the thing she’d been obsessed with since the night she’d seen him with the unknown woman. She wrapped her fingers round its shaft, and eagerly drew its head into her mouth.

“Ohhh,” Malfoy groaned, “oh, _Susan_...” He twined his fingers in her hair. “Mmmmmm...” 

Hermione bobbed her head, sucking softly, cupping his balls in her hand. 

Malfoy babbled like a man experiencing some ecstatic vision. “Oh, Susan...” 

With her fingertips, Hermione teased the flesh behind his sac...

Malfoy's voice suddenly grew panicked. “Ah— _SUSAN!_ ” 

Hermione was enjoying herself so much, she’d forgotten she was supposed to be Susan Bones, and it wasn’t until Malfoy grabbed her head and held it still, and she found herself staring up at him, that she realised he wanted her to stop. He was flushed and panting. 

“Wouldn't you rather,” he said, breathing hard, “we made love?”

Hermione had seen him recover from a shattering orgasm in a matter of seconds, but the last thing she wanted was to put him in an embarrassing situation. “Yes. _Please_.”

Malfoy took a few moments to calm down then, smiling once more, raised her to her feet. 

Slowly and deliberately, he unhooked the fastenings at the back of her gown, and slid the fabric down her body, letting it fall to the floor in a pool of glittering green. Hermione stepped out of it. Underneath, she was wearing white—a strapless, long-line bra, lacy panties and a suspender belt—with sheer, black stockings and elegant black stilettos.

“Merlin,” he muttered, “you’re a sexy woman...” He drew his wand—“I'll repair these afterwards, I promise,”—and muttered a cutting charm, and Hermione felt a delicious warmth slide between her legs as his spell split the crotch of her panties. “It would be a crime to strip you.”

He led her, through the drifts of silken curtains, up onto the dais, to the _chaise longue_. “Do you trust me, Susan?”

“Of course,” said Hermione.

“Then I think you'll like this position...”

She watched him place a cushion on the seat. Then he took her hand and helped her climb up, gently coaxing her to lie face down, with her head on her folded arms and her hips on the cushion.

“I promise you,” he murmured, as he straddled her, “that I will be the best you’ve ever had...” She felt the weight of his belly on her buttocks, and his cock, stiff and insistent, nudging her slit. “Are you ready for me, Susan? Mmm?” His voice was husky now; his breath teased her as he kissed the nape of her neck.

“Yes,” Hermione croaked. 

Then she felt his cock invade her pussy, and the full import of her deception suddenly came home to her, but instead of making her feet guilty, the thought sent a _frisson_ of excitement through her, making her gasp and shudder, which in turn elicited a deep groan of pleasure from Malfoy. 

He grasped her hips and began fucking her, thrusting in and out of her, hard and dominant— _Rutting_ , she thought, blissfully—now leaning forwards to cup her breasts or to nip her neck, now leaning backwards to run his hand down her spine or to fondle her buttocks, now crouching over her and sliding his hand beneath her to caress her clit through the slit in her panties—on and on he went, and every change of position seemed to pull Hermione back from the brink, then fuck her right to the edge again...

“Ah!” she cried, “ _There!_ Please! Oh, please! There! _There!_ ”

And, this time, Malfoy braced himself with his arms and fucked her _there_ , breathing heavily, like a man hard at work.

“Oh!” cried Hermione, writhing beneath him. “Oh! Oh! _Ohhh!_ ” 

She jammed her hands against the end of the _chaise longue_ to stop herself being hammered out from under him and suddenly, without warning, an orgasm exploded inside her, burning up her body from the inside out, and she arched and twisted, wailing in surprise. 

And, as soon as the sensation began to fade, she felt another spark, deep inside her—Malfoy was still _fucking_ her!—and a second climax, different but just as intense, hit her hard, and then a third, and a fourth and, as she was coming down from the fifth, she felt Malfoy spurt inside her, gasping, “Ah!—ah!— _Djah!_ Oh... _FUCK!_ ”

...

“Give me a minute,” he murmured, nuzzling her neck, “and I'll be ready for round two.”

It was exactly what he’d said to the other woman, and Hermione thought she might burst. She felt him pull out of her, and she turned, and watched him grasp his cock. 

“Let _me_ ,” she said.

He seemed surprised, but he moved closer, thrusting his hips towards her.

Hermione wrapped her hand around him, leaned in, and thoroughly kissed his head, running the tip of her tongue along his opening. He was hot and slick, and already beginning to harden again, and it only took that, and a couple of strokes of her fingers, to restore him.

“You're wonderful, Susan,” he sighed. “One in a million.” Then he swung his leg over her and, to Hermione’s delight, took up his former position, and they groaned together as he began fucking her again. 

This time, Hermione experimented by bracing herself so that she could respond to his strokes, rocking and swaying and grinding her hips. Her body was on fire; every part of her—her legs, her arms, her head—was tingling, her breasts were swollen, her nipples hard and almost unbearably sensitive, her sex was glowing but aching, full and yet still hungry.

The feel of Malfoy’s body—his hard muscles flexing around her, his sweat dripping on her, his cock reaming her—was intoxicating. But, most of all, the noises he was making—the grunts and groans and the strangled, subhuman cries that had led her to him in the first place, and that now were telling her just how much she was pleasuring him—were almost better than the fucking itself.

“Merlin, Susan, you're so _good_ ,” he sobbed.

Hermione was in sexual heaven. She never wanted it to end—

Her pussy spasmed sharply and, with a clarity that pierced her sex-fogged brain like a blade, she realised that _this_ sensation was _bad_.

She’d been on such a physical high, she’d forgotten her time was limited. 

In a panic, she tried to pull away. “I—I have to go.”

“Umm?” Malfoy, exhausted, was taking a short rest, rocking inside her lazily.

“I—I'm sorry,” she said, squirming beneath him, “I, um... Please, Draco, I _must_...” 

Her body was changing fast; her damp hair was dulling to brown, her growing breasts were beginning to spill out of her bra and, worst of all, her pussy was starting to shrink around Malfoy’s cock—she knew that, at any moment, he must surely feel it tightening—

“Merlin,” he gasped, “what..?” 

He seemed about to pull out of her, but it must have felt as good for him as it did for her, because he changed his mind and, with a deep, ragged groan, he arched his back and followed his instincts, fucking Hermione with a glorious round of hard, meaty thrusts, which had her begging incoherently for more, until a mass of brown curls fell down in front of her eyes and she came to her senses, scrambled out from under him, and fled, leaving him shouting in frustration, “ _SUSAAAAAAAAN!_ ”

...

**Two miserable days later**

Hermione slid down in her chair and, trying to hide behind the pile of scrolls on her desk, watched Malfoy cross the chamber and make a beeline for her.

“We need to talk,” he said, in a tone that left her in no doubt that he’d discovered her secret.

Hermione glanced at the office clock. It was still two hours to lunchtime. “Now?”

“I think you owe me that, Granger.”

He had a point. She rose from her desk and followed him, across the office, out into the lobby, into a lift, and up onto the Ministry roof. 

Once outside, Malfoy sealed the door with a quiet, “ _Colloportus_ ,” and they walked along the leads between the balustrade and the sloping tiles.

Hermione's legs were shaking so badly, she knew she must either sit down or fall. She found a place to sit. 

“It took me an embarrassingly long time to work it out,” said Malfoy, leaning over the balustrade. “But when Bagshot told me that Susan Bones had gone to Russia on the eleventh, and I remembered how much you knew about Poussin’s paintings, and Oculus Potion, and how you asked me all those strange questions about yourself, it was pretty obvious.” 

He peeled himself off the stonework, crossed the leads, and sat down beside her, almost as though they were friends. “What’s not so obvious, Granger, is why?”

Hermione bristled. “It was you,” she said. “You flaunted yourself in front of me!”

“Because I caught you _watching_ me!”

“You were making so much noise! I thought it was a Boggart!”

There was an uncomfortable silence, then Malfoy burst out laughing.

“You have no idea,” said Hermione, quietly, “what all that groaning does to a woman.”

Malfoy turned towards her. “And _you_ have no idea,” he said, earnestly, “what _you_ have done to me. All through school, I fancied you, Granger. People said you were shagging Potter, but I said you were too good for that—too pure—the brightest, most know-it-all, good girl ever, and totally out of my league, because _I_ was a randy bastard, and _you_ were above me.

“And then I saw you, spying on me like some pervert.” He shook his head. “I just wanted to show you what you'd missed.”

“Then why didn’t you ask _me_ out?” said Hermione. “Why ask Susan Bones?”

“Because I wanted meaningless sex!” He reached for her hand. “Half way through dinner I knew something had gone wrong. We were far too much in tune with one another—I couldn't believe Susan Bones knew so much about French art and ancient portkeys. And then you _seduced_ me, Granger! Fucking hell, you’re a sex fiend! Why're you always hiding it under those tweed skirts and bulky sweaters?” 

Hermione shrugged. She wasn't sure she _was_ a sex fiend with anyone but Malfoy and, if she were, she didn’t think she wanted anyone but him to know...

“I need you to make me a promise, Granger,” he said, stroking her hand with his thumb. “You’re a Gryffindor, so I know that if you give me your word, you’ll keep it.” He tilted his head, caught her eye, and held it. “I want you to _promise_ me that you’ll never do it again.”

Hermione frowned. Was he saying that he wanted her, but as _herself_ , or did he mean that he never wanted sex with her again?

“Do you _want_ me—”

“I want you more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I want to spirit you away to some desert island and spend the remainder of my days talking to you about French art and Muggle science and all those things that _matter_ , and the remainder of my nights fucking your brains out. I do, Granger.” He brought her hand to his chest and held it close to his heart. “But I don’t want to have babies with you, and—be honest with yourself— _you_ don’t want to waste your life locked up in Malfoy Manor, a pure-blood's wife.

“I have six months of freedom left and then I have to start paying the piper, marry Astoria Greengrass and produce a male heir.” He shrugged. “You never know, I might get lucky—she and I may end up being fond of each other, like Mother and Father.” He raised Hermione's hand to his lips. “Though she’ll never be my good girl who turned into a sex fiend...” 

He kissed her hand.

“I should be angry with you, Granger. What you did to me was unfair—not to mention bat-shit crazy—but... Well, the truth is, it’s the sort of thing I might have done myself, at least when I was younger. 

“And you did give me a night I’ll never forget...”

He was silent for a long moment, as though savouring the memory of their lovemaking. Then he added, “That’s why I’m begging you, Granger—don’t torture me by making me spend the next six months hoping that every woman I fuck's going to turn out to be you in disguise.”

“You promised me a second round,” Hermione whispered, unaware how childish—and how desperate—she sounded for, at that moment, all she could think of was how much she wanted him.

“It was _you_ who ran away,” he reminded her. “And I told you there could be no strings, remember?” He kissed her hand again. “You, Granger, are the very definition of strings.”

“Oh...” 

She understood, at last, what Malfoy was telling her—that _she_ was different, that _she_ had the power to lead him astray, to destroy the future he and his family were working so hard to rebuild. And, when he put it to her like that, what choice did she have? “I promise you,” she said, her voice sounding like a child's. 

“Thank you.” He kissed her hand one last time.

Suddenly, Hermione needed air, and there wasn’t enough in the entire world to fill her lungs. She stood up, and stumbled to the balustrade. 

Her brain knew that Malfoy was right—they were never meant to be together. Marriage could only mean _him_ giving up his family, his fortune, his heritage, or _her_ giving up her dream of a career, and either one of those choices would end in misery for both of them, but her body—her _heart_ —wanted what it wanted...

 _Draco_.

Behind her, she heard him walk to the door. 

He paused. 

Hermione held her breath.

“What a seriously fucked up bunch of deities must preside over this world,” he said, bitterly. “To create the perfect woman and give me one night with her, just so I know what I’m missing... _Alohomora_.” He opened the door.

“Oh, Draco,” whispered Hermione, when she heard it close behind him, “my darling Draco; that’s why you must always be careful what you wish for.”

**THE END**

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. _I don't wanna brag, but I'll be the best you ever had_ \- Lyrics from ‘Tonight (Best you've ever had)’ by John Legend.  
>  2\. Person 1 (either Hermione or Draco) purposely ruins Person 2's date with one of their co-workers.  
> 3\. Some brief witty (and funny) banter during sex (because the world needs more laughter :D).


End file.
